for i feel i've held him for all of time
by chalantness
Summary: Drabble #3: He knows she's never even seen it in person, but the bleak streaks and colors, the jagged rocks and dark flames… It's unmistakable to him that she's painting Tartarus.
1. love it when you call me legs

**Drabble:** love it when you call me legs  
**Rating:** PG-13**  
Characters:** Jason/Reyna  
**Word Count:** ~1,100  
**Prompt:** _Love it when you call me legs_ – "Boys Boys Boys" by Lady Gaga

... ...

It starts because of Dakota, the perverted idiot.

Well, no. That's not exactly fair because Dakota's a smart and admirable camper. He's by no means an _idiot_.

The perverted part, though, is accurate most of the time, like when they'd all been together the other day. The weather was warm and sunny and clear, and they'd finished all of the paperwork that the Senate claimed they absolutely needed by the next morning, so they changed into their swimsuits and spent the rest of the day at the lake until they had to get changed for dinner. Reyna actually did a lot of swimming that time around, too, which was nice. She'd never hated the water, but after she first arrived at Camp, it took a while for her to enjoy being in it again and without it bringing up all these memories, and then during the times Jason had been gone, she just didn't have the time for a leisurely swim.

So, yeah, an afternoon at the lake had been much appreciated, and after she'd been in the water for a while, she and Gwen spread out some towels over the grass, laid on their backs and talked about nothing in particular while the others were still trying to dunk each other.

After some time, when she'd noticed that the yelling had died down, Reyna lifted herself up on her elbows and found that their friends were just staring at her and Gwen.

"Nice legs, Rey!" Dakota called out.

Reyna scoffed, fighting off the stupid urge to blush. She turned to Gwen, expecting the girl to reprimand him like she always does, but found her staring at her legs with an amused smile on her face. This only made Reyna want to blush even more.

"You know, the idiot's right, Rey," Gwen said with a laugh. "I never realized how amazing your legs were before."

"Jeez," Reyna muttered.

Jason jogged up to them, dripping water onto her thighs as he knelt beside her, and she wrinkled her nose as he placed a wet kiss to her temple. Dakota, Bobby, Hazel and Frank all settled onto the grass around them, and Reyna couldn't help but notice that they were _all_ staring at her legs. She glared, hugging them to her chest.

"Feeling shy, Legs?" Dakota laughed.

She chucked a bottle of sunblock at his head.

That's how the nickname came about, and it's what the five of her _friends_ (she's seriously reconsidering that status) have been calling her ever since. They know better than to use the nickname at official meetings or in front of anyone important, thankfully, but everywhere else is fair game. They'll purposely say it louder during conversation to get people to look or yell it across tables and restaurants and streets when she's a few feet away and they're supposedly trying to get her attention. She tries to ignore it, but they make it impossible.

Anyway, it's a little overcast but actually pretty warm outside even though it's pretty early still, so she changed into a pair of denim shorts and light blouse and brought the quest debriefs Octavian had passed onto her from the Senate. There are a few benches around the park in New Rome, so she walked over there, laid herself out and started reading.

She's been there for about half an hour before Jason comes along, sliding onto the bench and pulling her legs over his lap. Whenever she doesn't end up spending the night in his villa (which is not often, to be honest), she'll wait for him so they can get breakfast together. But it was so warm this morning that she tried to get out for some fresh air as soon as possible. He must have been looking for her for a while now.

"You could've at least left a note," he says, but she can tell he's just teasing.

"Oops?"

"You're slipping, Legs." She glares, about to pull away, but he laughs and presses his hands firmly over the tops of her thighs before she can move them. "Rey, it's not that bad of a nickname," he points out, but him laughing while he's telling her this? It's definitely not helping his argument, here.

"It's inappropriate and embarrassing."

"Why? You have nothing to be ashamed of. I love your legs."

"Jason," she says.

He gives her an innocent look, making her roll her eyes, but it's hard to act annoyed with his hands still in her lap and his thumb smoothing random patterns into her skin. She feels like squirming, and then he moves his hand a little higher and she hisses his name, glancing around. No one's around to see them, _but still_.

"I mean, I love every part of you," he goes on as if she didn't even speak, "but your legs _are_ pretty awesome."

She stifles a laugh. "I didn't realize you had a fetish."

"Not a fetish," he corrects, moving his thumb across her skin again as he adds, "More like a reminder."

Her eyebrows pull together but she doesn't ask what that's supposed to mean, getting distracted by him drawing randomly over her thigh. Except, as she pays more attention, she realizes that he's actually repeating some sort of pattern. And that's when she notices it.

He's tracing over her scars.

There're quite a few on her legs that she's gotten over the years, most of them almost entirely faded away by now and only visible if you know where to look (which Jason does), and she can recall with an almost scary clarity how each of them happened. No one else but Jason knows _every_ single scar on her body, and even then, he doesn't know every story. He'd stopped asking for them when they got more and more graphic, and she thinks (knows) it's because he hates the thought that people could hurt her, let alone hurt her enough to leave a mark. Plus, this is _Jason_, who has a constant need to protect. It's never him overestimating himself or underestimating everyone else. He doesn't like seeing _anyone_ in pain.

He's just extra-protective when it comes to her.

"Hey," she says to get him to look at her. "I'm not ashamed of my scars, you know. I mean, I'm not _proud_ of them, either, but that's not why I…"

"You don't have to say it," he assures. Reyna smiles and doesn't finish her sentence. "I'm not crazy about everyone staring at your legs, either, but," he moves his hand over her hip and pulls her closer, "I want everyone to know how amazing you are. I can't help but want to show you off to the world."

"Way to make me sound like I'm just some prize," she teases, tapping her finger to the bridge of his nose.

He rolls his eyes, smiling. "You know that's not what I mean."

"I know."

He chuckles, leans in to kiss her. "And you know you're beautiful, right, Legs?" he asks, and instead of answering, she straddles his hips and slants her lips over his, his hands warm against her legs.


	2. where's my shirt?

**Drabble:** where's my shirt?  
**Rating:** PG-13**  
Characters:** Travis/Katie  
**Word Count:** ~1,500  
**Prompt:** _Where is my shirt?_ – Sentence Block from WriteWorld on tumblr

... ...

She's going to kick herself.

No. First, she's going to kick whoever thought it was a good idea to slip something into her drink while she wasn't looking, and _then_ she's going to kick herself.

And she _knows_ someone did something to her drink last night, or at least to her food, because there was a funny taste in her mouth after dinner and that's really the only explanation as to why she felt so _buzzed_ during the bonfire. She's never had a sip of alcohol in her life, can't begin to imagine what it must be like to be drunk, but she knows that's what it felt like last night. She's willing to bet the girls from Aphrodite cabin are the ones to blame, those meddling little nymphs. Sometimes they're alright, but then they do things like this and…

Well, she woke up a few minutes ago, half-naked in a tent next to Travis Stoll.

So.

Travis is still fast asleep, an arm thrown over her waist, and she can feel his breath warm against her neck and his chest rising and falling ever so slightly against her back. Oh Zeus, they're _spooning_. She's only in a bra and underwear and he's only in his cutoffs and they're underneath the same blanket, _spooning_.

She squirms, partly because it's really warm in this tent and underneath this blanket with the two of them pressed together like this, but mostly because she's anxious, trying to remember last night and what could've possibly happened that things ended up like _this_. It's all a blur, honestly, and she can only remember bits and pieces. Feeling a tipsy and giggly during the bonfire, a lot of laughing, everyone talking about camping outside in tents because it was so warm and it was such a nice night, Clarisse threatening Conner and Travis when they started messing with them, a lot of music and dancing, and then someone set off fireworks and Conner was gone and Travis was still standing next to her and…

"Katie," Travis murmurs into her ear. Her entire body tenses. "Stop moving. I'm still trying to sleep."

That pisses her off. It's stupid, really, but it does.

"Travis," she hisses, trying to pry his arm off, but he has a surprisingly strong grip. He shifts and mutters incoherently as he draws her closer, making her groan. "_Let go of me_."

"No. Just let me—"

She swats at his wrist, _hard_,which makes him flinch and then reluctantly pull his arm away, and she tosses aside the cover and moves herself as far as she can in one motion, which is only about three feet. Her heart's thumping quickly in her chest and she takes a few deep breaths because she's two seconds away from hyperventilating. Travis grunts a little as he props himself up on his elbows and starts rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, she can't even bring herself to scold him for getting dirt in his eyes by doing that because she isn't thinking straight. Travis is actually kind of cute to her right now, his curls tucked up in weird places and his face still dazed from the sleep he hasn't shaken off yet.

She _knows_ she isn't thinking straight.

Then he meets her eyes and just stares at her for a moment and she's going to ignore the tingle she feels in her stomach, because Conner and Travis Stoll are punks and do nothing but cause her trouble and… and she's still half-naked right now and she needs…

"Clothes," she mutters, as if saying it out loud will make her focus on actually, you know, _finding_ her clothes. "I need—"

"Suddenly feeling shy?" His voice is a little slurred.

"Travis, if you're not going to_—_"

"_Here_," he interrupts, and she barely holds her hand out in time to catch whatever he'd thrown. Shorts. Why did he have her shorts? He sits himself up and meets her eyes again, a little more awake this time. "Katie," he says gently, and it actually kind of puts her at ease for some reason. "Can you stop freaking out? You'll wake everyone up."

She nods absently. Right. Everyone else camped out last night, too. They're probably right outside. Maybe Clarisse can fill in some of the gaps in her memory, or at the very least she can find where the Aphrodite cabin slept and—

"You probably shouldn't go out," he says. She glances back at him, hand lingering on the zipper of the tent. She hadn't even realized she'd been trying to get out. She furrows her eyebrows at him, about to ask why she couldn't leave, when she notices his eyes drift and this blush spread across his cheeks as he looks away. She glances down at herself and…

She's still only in a bra. "Where is my shirt?" she asks, suddenly feeling exasperated.

Travis shrugs and then lifts the blanket up, feeling around underneath, but the Camp Half-Blood shirt he pulls out could only be his because it looks too big to be hers. He frowns at it for a few seconds and she gets this urge to smile at his stumped face because, _gosh_, was he always this cute? She never noticed. Maybe because he was too busy pestering her with his brother for her to try and find any redeeming qualities, but still. Travis runs a hand through his messy curls, eyebrows pulled together in thought until a look of realization crosses his face.

"You weren't wearing a shirt last night."

Her heart thumps. "What? No, of course I was! I _know_ I was wearing one."

"I mean, when I found you, you weren't wearing a shirt," he says. "I went to get a drink and then found you again right after the fireworks and you weren't wearing one."

"Oh my gods," she breathes.

"Just wear this."

Travis holds out his shirt and she hesitates, pressing her lips together. It's not like she can walk out of here in just a bra, and wearing his shirt would be better than draping the blanket over herself and dragging it all the way back to her cabin. She lets out this little sigh and crawls over to him, muttering a _thank you_ as he hands over his shirt. He averts his eyes until she's tugged it over her head and she can't help but laugh once she's got it on. It looks kind of huge on her because Travis is so tall. Travis grins.

"Looks good," he says, actually sounding sincere about it. She lets out another laugh and pushes her fingers through her hair. She's still kind of a mess right now, in her head. "You didn't do anything bad last night, in case you were wondering." She meets his eyes. "_We_ didn't do anything last night, either."

"We didn't?" She's honestly surprised. They were _spooning_. She just assumed that…

He shakes his head. "Clarisse dumped you onto me as soon as I showed up. You were really energetic earlier, but now you just seemed really tired and about to pass out. I brought you to my tent and figured I'd just stay next door in Conner's in case you needed anything, but you didn't want me to leave you alone. You actually kissed me to make me stay."

Her eyes widen. "I did _what?_"

He's smiling now and she doesn't know whether to feel embarrassed or repulsed. She _kissed_ Travis?

"I was just messing with you a little," he admits. "I was trying to leave so you could get some sleep, but you were putting up a real fight. You hit really _hard_." She grins. "And then I said something about not even getting a thank you kiss for all of my trouble, and then…"

"I gave you a thank you kiss," she guesses. He nods. "Oh, gods," she breathes. "I'm sorry for all the trouble, Travis."

He arches an eyebrow, still smiling as he presses the back of his hand to her forehead. "Are you sure you're feeling better? You just _apologized_ to me."

"Well, I _kissed_ you last night," she reminds, batting his hand away, "so I guess I'm doing all sorts of things out of character lately."

"Was it really out of character?"

"We hate each other, Travis," she says kind of softly, giving him a look.

"I never said that."

"But you… What?"

She blinks a few times, feeling confused, and Travis's hand comes to settle at her hip. She didn't even realize when he'd gotten so close. She's about to ask him what's wrong, but the question dies on her tongue as he presses their foreheads together. "I let you borrow my shirt," he says, tugging at the hem of it. "Don't I get another thank you kiss?"

She should slap him. She really should.

But obviously her judgment is still a little warped from sleep or the heat or whatever those Aphrodite girls slipped her dinner last night, or maybe all three (probably all three), because she just matches that _smile_ on his face as she peels off her (his) shirt and tosses it at his face, then presses their lips together as soon as it's fallen between them.


	3. stained with paint

**Drabble:** stained with paint  
**Rating:** PG-13**  
Characters:** Nico/Rachel  
**Word Count:** ~1,200  
**Prompt:** _How long has it been since you last slept?_ – Sentence Block from WriteWorld on tumblr

**A/N:** Sorry if they're not in character, but… I tried? Angst is _so_ not my forte.

... ...

He can smell the paint fumes before he's even walked inside, so no, he's not surprised to find Rachel in the Hades cabin.

What _does_ surprise him is the mess.

Her backpack and most of its contents thrown across one of the only two beds in this cabin, with paint tubes and brushes and sketches scattered all over the floor and Rachel standing in the middle of it all, her back facing him. Her hair's up into this messy bun that he's always found kind of annoyingly sexy on her (though he'd never say that out loud) and she'd pulled her painting apron on over the denim shorts and faded tee he'd seen her in before he left to talk with Chiron. On the little fold-out table beside her sits her souvenir mug from one of her trips to Paris, the one she always drinks tea out of whenever she's in the middle of painting. He's willing to bet the mug is empty, or at least that the tea inside is totally cold now.

"Dare, what in Hades—" he begins, stepping inside, but Rachel turns around and the _look_ on her face makes him stop. "Rachel," he says, more alarmed now, because her eyes are kind of puffy and her cheeks are a little red and it's very obvious that she's been crying.

"Hey," she greets, sounding oddly cheerful as she turns back to her canvas. "I just can't get this painting right."

Tartarus.

He knows she's never even seen it in person, but the bleak streaks and colors, the jagged rocks and dark flames… It's unmistakable to him that she's painting Tartarus.

"Trust me, Rachel, you got Tartarus down perfectly."

She furrows her eyebrows at him. "Tartarus?" she asks, glancing back at the painting with a strange expression, as if she's seeing it for the first time. He pries the paintbrush and palette from her hands. "I… I just started painting things. I didn't even realize that that's what it could be. You're _right_."

"You mind saying that again so I can record that as proof? Percy might not believe me if…"

He trails off, glancing at Rachel helplessly. Oh, Hades. He hadn't meant to say that, say Percy's name. Rachel lets out a laugh, sounding a little bit hysterical and on the verge of more tears, and he grips her forearm and feels something pet against his skin—red and black paint, smudging off of her and onto him. He looks away. It looks too like blood.

"Are they alright?"

"I don't know," he admits.

She tries to put her hands over her face, but he holds her by her wrists so she doesn't get paint in her eyes. "They're in _Tartarus_, Nico. Of _course_ they're not alright!"

He doesn't even flinch at her outburst. He just nods, even though she's not looking at him to see it, and asks, "When's the last time you slept?" Because he's taking a better look at her and he can just tell that she's been without sleep longer than you're supposed to.

"I don't want to go to sleep." She sounds _tired_.

"I don't care what you _want. _You _need_ to go to sleep."

"I'm not going to—"

"_Rachel_," he hisses, and she finally looks him in the eyes.

He's still holding her wrists between them because, honestly, he's kind of afraid that if he lets go of her, she's going to throw a fit or maybe even collapse. She's staring back at him and he can't see the Rachel that loves to argue with him, that tosses back witty remarks and makes snarky comments about everything, and it's _freaky_. Percy and Annabeth definitely won't like coming home to find Rachel – or any of their other friends, for that matter – like _this_. He basically promised Percy that he'd look after things here, but that's easier said than done.

Then again, who is he to complain about a tough job? Percy and Annabeth are in _Tartarus_. Life's hardly trying to be _fair_ to anyone right now.

"Let's try and get some of this paint off of you," he tells her, and surprisingly, she just nods.

He walks her over to the bed where she'd dumped her backpack out onto and sits her down on the edge of it, and she watches him as he cleans off a decent amount of it with a few dozen baby wipes and then rubs more of it off with a face towel dipped in baby oil (yeah, he's seen her do this more than once), patting her dry with a towel once he's finished.

Then, with a half-hearted push, she sweeps some of her stuff off of the mattress and onto the floor, picks up her empty backpack and tosses it aside. "What are you…" he begins, but she ignores him, pushing the rest of her things off of the bed, her pencils and water bottle and chapstick rolling across the hardwood. She doesn't even bother unlacing her shoes, just yanks them off of her feet and dropping them in the pile with the rest of her things beside her bed before pushing the blankets aside and… _oh_. She was just clearing off her bed.

He stands there as she's lying down, not really trusting that she won't decide to bolt at the last minute and go off to gods knows where, and then turns to leave once she's drawn the blankets over her shoulders.

Except, he feels her hand grasp his before he can even take a step, and he turns back around to look at her. Her eyes are closed, but he knows she's not sleeping.

"You were really just going to leave me like this?" Her voice is so soft that he thinks he imagined it for a second.

"I'll just be across the room," he points out.

"You're so dense," she mutters, eyebrows furrowing. He frowns at her, confused, but then feels her tug him very gently towards her. Again, he almost imagines it for a second because her grip was so light, but he _knows_ that she'd actually done it.

He exhales. "Let me just…" He trails off. She lets go of his hand and he walks over and closes the cabin door before heading back to her bed. He steps out of his shoes and pulls back the blanket and she shifts closer to the wall to make room for him to lie down beside her. He hardly believes that this is allowed, but whatever. He doesn't care about that right now.

He tugs the blanket over their shoulders again, glancing at Rachel. He's lying on his back and she's on her side, facing him, and other than her hand that's gripping onto his shirt, they're not even touching. It's dark with the door closed now, but he can still see pretty well, his eyes focusing on the crease between her eyebrows and how long her eyelashes are.

He's not really sure how long he stares at her, or what he's looking for, exactly, but then Rachel whispers, "Good night," and he watches her entire face finally relax when he echoes the words back to her.

It's not a smile, nor does she really look _peaceful_,but she doesn't look so _broken_,either, so it's a start, and he falls asleep counting the freckles on her cheeks.


End file.
